Archive for Just a Biker thoughts

Riding a motorcycle is like:

There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind’s big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don’t even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that’s just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.

 Despite this, it’s hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you’re changed forever. The letters “MC” are stamped on your driver’s license right next to your sex and weight as if “motorcycle”  was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition. But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a summer is worth any price.

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A Valuable Lesson

From the mailing list:

“If one is riding down the pitch black road at 4 in the morning on a beautiful, cool and brisk day, with a full moon still shining…

 And a skunk runs out in front of you…

 And said skunk is barely clipped…

 Your bike will still smell like skunk.

Just incase any of you ever need to know that.

Ride with a friend

1. Never place your Bike keys on your seat after locking up your Bike because if
you swing your leg over the seat to get off your Bike you can accidently knock
the keys (attached to the PLASTIC key fob and “gremlin bell”) down between the
red hot smoldering muffler and the frame: and mark my words the keys will get
caught on the “gremlin bell” and not fall to the ground like they should. The
key fob will probably melt unless you can figure out how to retrieve your keys
without burning your fingers. However, if you are riding with someone else who
is willing to save your key fob from melting, by putting their hand between the
smoldering hot muffler and frame, thereby burning their hand instead of burning
yours, it’s a good thing. Buy them an ice water to say thank you; they can drink
it or soak their hand.

2. Make sure your helmet strap is properly closed under your chin or snapped
shut before you take off down the road to avoid the realization that at 55+Mph
your helmet isn’t secure and thereby have to ride holding onto your helmet
straps because the helmet bouncing up and down on your head and will be
airborne at any moment – and of course the road you’re on doesn’t seem to have
room to pull over because you’re concentrating on the helmet and the road in
front of you. However the Biker you are riding with somehow notices your
dilemma (lucky they let you lead), passes you and leads the way to a safe stop
to fix the problem.

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The Season of the Bike

The Season of the Bike
by Dave Karlotski

There is cold, and there is cold on a bike. Cold on a bike is like being beaten with coldhammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind’s big hands squeeze the heat out my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don’t even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone falling from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that’s just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.

Despite this, it’s hard to give up my bike in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among bikers. When you let a motorcycle into your life you’re changed forever. The letters “MC” are stamped on your driver’s license right next to your sex and height as if “motorcycle” was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition.

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Merry Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, And not until Spring,
Would an engine be running, not even a Wing.
The bikes are all sleeping, They’re covered and warm
Batteries are tended, nylon covers their form.

My Bros were all nestled snug in their beds,
While visions of new chrome danced in their heads.

And I in my doo-rag, bike jacket and boots,
Out shoveling snow, and dreaming of scoots.

Then from the horizon there came such a clatter,
My shovel I dropped, what could be the matter?

Away up the hill, I slogged through the snow,
Looked up at the sky; where’d all that noise go?

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YES, I’M A BAD AMERICAN

I Am the Liberal-Progressives Worst Nightmare.

I am an American.
I am a Master Mason and believe in God.
I ride Harley Davidson Motorcycles and believe in American products.
I believe the money I make belongs to me and my family, not some Liberal governmental functionary be it Democratic or Republican!
I’m in touch with my feelings and I like it that way!
I think owning a gun doesn’t make you a killer; it makes you a smart American.
I think being a minority does not make you noble or victimized, and does not entitle you to anything. Get over it!
I believe that if you are selling me a Big Mac, do it in English.
I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.

I believe everyone has a right to pray to his or her God when and where they want to.

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Oh Deer!

an article somewhere about deer vs. Motorcycles and said encountering a deer is like this:

“Being ambushed by a deer is like walking into a bar, ordering a drink. The guy next to you hits you over the head with a bar stool while you are reaching for your wallet to pay for the drink!”

JUST A BIKER

I saw you hug your purse closer to you in the grocery store line.
But, you didn’t see me, put an extra $10.00 in the collection plate last Sunday.
 
I saw you pull your child closer when we passed each other on the sidewalk.
But, you didn’t see me, playing Santa at the local mall.
 
I saw you change your mind about going into the restaurant.
 But, you didn’t see me, attending a meeting to raise more money for the hurricane relief.
 
I saw you, roll up your window and shake your head when I drove by.
But, you didn’t see me, driving behind you when y ou flicked your cigarette butt out the car window.
 
I saw you, frown at me when I smiled at your children.
But, you didn’t see me, when I took time off from work to run toys to the homeless.
 
I saw you, stare at my long hair.
But you didn’t see me, and my friends cut ten inches off for Locks of Love.
 
I saw you, roll your eyes at our leather coats and gloves.
But, you didn’t see me, and my brothers donate our old coats and gloves to those that had none.
 
I saw you, look in fright at my tattoos.
But, you didn’t see me cry as my children where born, and have their name written over and in my heart.
 
I saw you, change lanes while rushing off to go somewhere.
 But, you didn’t see me, going home to be with my family.
 
I saw you, complain about how loud and noisy our bikes can be.
But, you didn’t see me, when you were changing the CD and drifted into my lane.
 
I saw you, yelling at your kids in the car.
But, you didn’t see me, pat my child’s hands, knowing he was safe behind me.
 
I saw you, reading the newspaper or map as you drove down the road.
But, you didn’t see me, squeeze my wife’s leg when she told me to take the next turn.
 
I saw you, race down the road in the rain.
 But, you didn’t see me, get soaked to the skin so my son could have the car to go on his date.
 
I saw you, run the yellow light just to save a few minutes of time.
But, you didn’t see me, trying to turn right.
 
I saw you, cut me off because you needed to be in the lane I was in.
 But, you didn’t see me, leave the road.
 
I saw you, waiting impatiently for my friends to pass.
 But, you didn’t see me. I wasn’t there.
 
I saw you, go home to your family.|
But, you didn’t see me.  Because, I died that day you cut me off.
 
I was just a biker. A person with friends and a family.  But, you didn’t see me.

Do you carry?

My old grandpa once said to me, “Son, there comes a time in every man’s life when he stops bustin’ knuckles and starts bustin’ caps and usually it’s when he becomes too old to take an ass whoopin’.

I don’t carry a gun to kill people. I carry a gun to keep from being killed.

I don’t carry a gun to scare people. I carry a gun because sometimes this world can be a scary place.

I don’t carry a gun because I’m paranoid. I carry a gun because there are real threats in the world.

I don’t carry a gun because I’m evil. I carry a gun because I have lived long enough to see the evil in the world.

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Biker Friends are not a Joke

Friends: Never ask for food

Biker Friends: Are the reason you have no food.

Friends: Will say “hello”

Biker Friends: Will give you a big hug and a kiss.

Friends: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.

Biker Friends: Call your parents Mom and Dad.

Friends: Have never seen you cry.

Biker Friends: Cry with you.

Friends: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.

Biker Friends: Will spend hours there,talking,laughing and just being together.

Friends: Borrow your stuff for a few days and then give it back.

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